the man in subway station

It has been bitterly cold the past few days. An inescapable, down-to-your bones kind of chill. Having gone from a string of balmy days, this type of weather feels like a slap in the face. Literally. The frigid air produces the same results as getting hit -- that same burning, punishing and stinging sensation. The cold also turns skin pink, which might be attractive except it reminds me of someone who has just been slapped (hard) in the face. It's an ugly pink, not a blushing, nice kind of pink.

Even worse than the cold air, though, is seeing people suffering from the weather. I realize I live in a great city, but there are groups of New Yorkers who seem to fall through the cracks and end up in not so great places. Case in point: the homeless man I saw this evening at my subway stop. He was curled up by the stairs, in the warmest place he could find. The man had no blanket, no jacket, no mittens and no hat. People walked by him with barely a glance, without making any overtures to help him. I admit that I walked by him without helping, too -- he was sleeping and I was afraid of waking him up.

Part of me wanted to go buy him a cup of coffee, or drop an old blanket over him. Something. Anything. However, I know from experience that a lot of these guys you try to help don't always want it. I've seen grown men selling the food and clothing that people have given them, and I've been yelled at before for giving someone an apple instead of a dollar.

If I see the guy again, I might drop off a hat. Even if he ends up selling it, at least he'll be warm for a little while.

I have to wonder ... a few months ago, one of my friends was telling me about this man who lived in our local subway stop. I had never seen this fellow, and couldn't believe a homeless person actually hung out in my very middle class, white collar neighborhood. My friend swore up and down however that his guy did, and what was more, he had once been a business professional who had gotten into heavy drug use and lost everything.

I have no idea if the man I saw tonight is the same person my friend was talking about, but if so, how sad. And even if not, it's still sad that there are people who have to spend the night on the cement floors of subway stops to stay warm.

vandals

Two posters from the 86th Street Subway Station (Downtown Platform) in Manhattan. This is what I call 'creative marketing' -- vandals taking over otherwise boring advertising posters and making them far more interesting with a few scribbles.

keyspan is the osama bin laden of gas supply companies: evil, corrupt and utter crap.

If you live in New York City, don't get your gas from Keyspan. Not only did they shut off the gas to our apartment by accident, it happened a month ago. The repairmen from Keyspan, who made several appointments to come and fix the situation, have never shown up. Not even once. The super of our apartment building even came to watch our apartment one time to wait for the Keyspan people, and no one showed up.

Today, I've been in the apartment since 8am waiting for a stupid Keyspan employee to show up and remedy the situation. Not only has no one stopped by, Keyspan failed to inform me that they had magically switched the appointment time until Thursday morning. Naturally, I flipped my shit (so to speak) and told them they had to come today. After assuring me someone would come around the apartment by 3 or 4pm, I've now been informed that it's likely no one will stop by until 8pm.

The customer service for Keyspan is possibly even worse than crappy old Time Warner, who also like to jerk people around and lie a lot. Who hires employees that yell at people on the phone? Oh wait, that's right. Keyspan!

So, seriously, take my advice: tell Keyspan to go suck an egg, and get your gas from somewhere else. Buy a cow and let it fart methane in your house, or something. That would be a much better option than dealing with the fascists at Keyspan.

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Happy New Year.

I'm not really updating right now, because no one is reading this thing anymore.

I'll post again once my need for self indulgence has to be met. Until then ...

ciao.